Where One Goes(69)

“Are you all right?” George asks, still not looking at me.

“Look at her, George!” Ike shouts from where he stands beside me.

“Stop shouting, Ike,” I say to him calmly. His emotion is distracting.

“What’s he saying?” Sniper asks.

“He’s telling George to look at me,” I reply quietly. George’s gaze meets mine, his dark eyes swimming with so many emotions; hurt, anger, confusion, and guilt. We’re all silent for a beat as George and I remain with our gazes locked, staring at one another. Silently, I’m pleading with him. Don’t walk away from me. Please believe me. But I’m not sure he sees it. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts.

“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Anna asks, breaking the moment.

“I’ll explain later, lass,” Sniper tells her. “Let’s give them a few minutes.”

After they’ve made it all the way back to Sam Snead’s, I take a hesitant step toward George. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he answers immediately, and my stomach clenches. He’s been dealing with so much in the last few days, including fighting withdrawals. How could he not feel bad?

“Are you still experiencing withdrawals?”

“That’s not the only reason why I feel like shit.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks up to the sky, his breath escaping his mouth in tiny bouts of fog.

“He feels bad for how he treated you,” Ike says, as we both watch George. “He loves you, Charlotte.” My gaze flicks to Ike’s, my eyes brimming with tears. Ike’s jaw is set, muscles tensed as he pleads his brother’s case. He wants us to end up together even though he, too, is in love with me.

“Is he here?” George asks, bringing me back into the moment.

“He is,” I say, as I clear my throat in an attempt to hide my brief moment of devastation at Ike’s words. “George?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re going through some stuff, you’re angry with me and hurt, but . . . will you come somewhere with me?”

“Where?” he asks with uncertainty.

“To the Mercers’ house. Their daughter, she speaks to me too. I haven’t told them yet. We were waiting until we told you first.”

He snorts and shakes his head as if he can’t believe what I’m saying. “We?”

“Ike and I agreed you should be the first to know, and I promised Maggie Mercer as soon as you knew, I would help her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Charlotte,” George says, as he scratches the back of his neck.

Desperate for a chance to show him what I can do, and take him somewhere outside of his own grief, I seize his hand in mine. “If you’ll come with me, let me show you something, I’ll never ask anything of you again. I’ll leave town with my father tomorrow and you’ll never have to think of me again.”

“Charlotte, you don’t have to leave town,” Ike says.

“If he doesn’t believe me, I’ll go, Ike,” I tell him. George scowls at me, his brows furrowed. I won’t ignore Ike anymore; he deserves better. If George chooses not to believe that I can see and communicate with his brother, that’s his choice. But Ike is here, and I’ll acknowledge him for as long I can see him. I’m not sure if it’s my pleading gaze or the desperation in my voice but George nods once and follows me after I say, “Please, George. Please.”



Sniper stays to keep an eye on the restaurant while George and I go on our little field trip. We take George’s Bronco; he even helps me climb in, but his touch sends an ache rushing through me—unlike the last time. The ride is silent; neither of us knows what to say. There’s nothing else I can say. Now I can only show him and hope it’s enough.

The Mercers don’t think twice about inviting us in when we show up unannounced after dark, even though Mrs. Mercer is already in her cotton nightgown and loose robe, ready to turn in for the night. They lead us in to the dining room and Mrs. Mercer sets about making us coffee, even though we insisted she didn’t have to. While she busies herself, Mr. Mercer makes small talk with George, and George does his best to be polite, even though his mind is a wreck. Maggie is standing behind her father, quiet and patient, when she finally asks, “I know I’m not supposed to speak to you in front of them, but are you here for me?”

I nod once in response. When we all have our coffee and cookies—because bless Mrs. Mercer, she can’t have a guest sit at her table without food and a drink—I clear my throat and begin to explain what I can do and tell them I can see Maggie. Mrs. Mercer immediately starts crying as I repeat what Maggie asks me to tell them, things only they would know. Mr. Mercer wraps an arm around her shoulder, his expression blank and unreadable.

George sits quietly, taking it all in, but when I stand, he stands, too. “May I go to her room? She’s asking me to. She has something she wants me to find for you.” Mr. Mercer nods once and as Maggie leads me, they all follow. Once in her room, Maggie indicates she’d like me to open the closet door. Inside, all of her clothes still hang—I’m guessing just the way she left them.

“I had been wearing a jacket the day before I passed. The necklace my mother told you about is in the pocket. The blue one there.” And Maggie points.